A Song Through the Night, revised
by Yukito-sama
Summary: (Chs 7,8 up)Erik has lived beneath the Paris Opera House for years. One fateful night he helps a sick chorus girl named Christine, but soon finds he is drawn to her. Erik promises to teach Christine and his feelings of love are only strengthened.
1. Author's Notes

Well, I'm revising 'A Song Through the Night' as we speak. I thought it was about time I did so. The story has been finished for a while and isn't as fresh in my mind, so it's the best time to work things out. I have to thank everyone for reading. If it wasn't for you reading my story and then telling me what you like, or dislike if the case may be, this story would have never been finished. I am overjoyed that you loved the story as much as you did. I thank you!  
  
With the revision I'm going to be fixing spelling errors, punctuation errors, and things grammar wise. There may be the chance that I rewrite some of the chapters; nothing major, just more description or added lines. There is a very small chance of an added chapter or two. It would be along the lines of what happens for Christmas or a birthday. I had planned on writing a short story about Erik and Christine during the Yule season, but never got to it. Adding it into this story may work better for me. Also, having recognition of Christine's birthday may solidify things, in a way.  
  
Anywho, the prologue for the story will be up really soon and the first chapter soon after that. I welcome suggestions for any part of the story, or even some ideas for the possible addition of a Christmas or birthday chapter. I will give thanks to those who helped if said chapters are created.  
  
Thank you all so much,  
  
Kristen, aka Yukito-sama  
  
Note (added 5/10/04) Wow, it's been a while since I've touched this. Sorry!!! School and work have gotten the best of me. I'm starting to revise again. The recent talks with a coworker (who just went to see PotO) and the whole notion of seeing the movie this Yule season has lit the fire under me! So, revisions will be happening more. Once again, sorry. 


	2. Prologue

Darkness had settled over the sleeping city. The full moon hung high in the velvet black sky, as stars twinkled, slowly fading behind puffs of gray clouds. Lights dimmed in the houses as streetlights fought back the shadows from the sidewalks. Tavern doors were open, showing the giddy people full of booze and delight.  
  
A young man trotted down the street, a bouquet of fresh red roses in his gloved hands. His black cape floated behind him, revealing the nicely pressed suit he wore. A top hat rested on his head, hiding his strawberry blonde hair.  
  
The wind rustled by, tossing the man's hat from his head. He turned and cursed under his breath. Without another thought he ran after it. His footsteps echoed off the cobblestone street, his free hand reaching for the tumbling hat wildly.  
  
Finally the top hat came to a stop, tumbling to the ground. The man smiled and scooped the hat up, his breathing slowing from his run. He examined his hat, brushing off a few grains of dirt with a slight frown. With a sigh he placed it on his head. Adjusting the object, the man turned to begin his journey down the street.  
  
Suddenly a soft meow slithered from the darkness. The man came to a stop, wondering if it was just his imagination. He looked around his feet, only to find a Siamese kitten sitting beside him and at the entrance of an alley. The young cat looked up at him with crystal blue eyes, unblinking and a soft purr escaping its small frame. Its charcoal colored tail flopped around.  
  
"Why, hello there!" the man said with a smile. He knelt down and held out his gloved hand. The kitten sniffed it and looked him in the eye. "I've never seen a feline like you around here. You must belong to someone of high class!"  
  
A soft meow came from the cat, like some type of reply. Those blue eyes blinked and twinkled in the soft light around them  
  
The man chuckled. "Well, I have no time to chat to such a petty thing." He patted the Siamese on the head, which was greeted by a soft meow. "Now, off with you. It would be a terrible thing to find such a creature dead in the street."  
  
"In deed it would."  
  
The voice, which spoke, seemed to flow from the darkness behind the cat. It held a power with in itself, but came out as soft and coy. A muted laugh followed as the man's eyes widened with fear of who ever spoke to him.  
  
The man stood, his eyes fixated on the darkness of the alley. His dark blue eyes strained to find the source of the voice, but could not find a single person. His heart beat heavily in his chest, his eyes growing wider with fear as the laughter continued. The flowers in his hand quivered as he began to shake with fear.  
  
Without a word the man turned to leave but came face to face with a tall man. A soft, rose-colored porcelain mask covered half of the man's face, leaving a beautifully shaped opening for his brown eyes. The man was tall and wore an elegant suit and cloak. The bare skin of his face was pale, and his black hair brushed back, whisking around his ears.  
  
"Good evening, sir." he said with a shaking voice. He held the roses in his hands as if they were to protect him from the stranger.  
  
The masked man sneered, his eyes fixating on the roses. "Roses? Such a lovely gift. Who is the lovely Mademoiselle that is to receive such a beautiful present?" He touched the velvet petals with a white gloved hand. "The young woman must mean much if you're going to her at such an hour."  
  
He nodded. "She is." A soft smile crossed his face as he looked at the roses. "She is a beautiful woman and I adore her more than life itself. I only hope she feels the same way, and I can gather my courage to approach her in person."  
  
"You've never spoken with the girl?" the masked man asked, raising an eyebrow. He laughed softly, causing the man to shudder. The cloaked man suddenly bent down and picked up the kitten, delicately. He stroked the cat's fur, causing the Siamese to purr. "A strange romance if I say so. Who, may I ask, is she?"  
  
"Her name is Christine Daae." he replied with a bright smile, the sense of fear suddenly disappearing as he spoke of the girl. "She is a chorus girl from the Paris Opera House. She is a beauty." He adjusted the flowers. "Christine may not be of great importance in the Opera populace, but she means a great deal to me. I must say, I am quite infatuated with her. It may just be a school boy's crush, but it seems like so much more."  
  
The masked man suddenly took hold of the suitor's neck. The kitten jumped from her master's arms, slowly circling around his feet. A soft growl seemed to grow from the masked man's throat as grip tightened around the man's neck. His brown eyes bore into the young suitor's soul, flashing with anger.  
  
"I suggest that you stay away from the Opera House. No one within those walls should be bothered by such a petty thing." he said in great disgust. The masked man tightened his grip on the young suitor's neck even more. The man clawed at the gloved hands, letting the bouquet fall to the cold ground. "I do not wish to harm you, but I will if I must. Such an insolent creature shouldn't bother the people of the opera. They have work they must do and an opera to perform. That opera is more important than your attempt of a courtship."  
  
"Please," the man gasped, his eyes wide with fear. "let me go. I will abide by your wishes if you let me live. I'll never return the opera, I swear."  
  
Without a word the masked man let go of the suitor. The young man fell to his knees gasping for air. His hat fell from his head, tumbling to the masked man's feet. He kicked it away with a soft laugh. He bent down and picked up the fallen roses, his eyes coming into contact with the suitor's.  
  
"I bid you good night, Monsieur. Remember my words; I am not afraid to harm you." the masked man said, adjusting the roses, pulling out the ruined stems. He looked down at the Siamese kitten, which meowed playfully. "Come, Ayesha. It is time we got home."  
  
The masked man turned on his heel and began walking down the street. The cat trotted beside him, her head in the air with pride. The man hummed a song that lingered in the air as a fog rolled in, seeming to mask him from view.  
  
The young suitor was left alone, struggling to breathe and wondering what had happened. He stood quickly, not bothering to grab his hat. Brushing the dirt from his clothes, he looked down the street, his eyes struck with fear. The man and his cat were nowhere to be seen. Without another glance he turned and ran; fear was dancing in his heart, and that masked face lingered in his memory. 


	3. Chapter one

A week later...  
  
Ominous music drifted through the Opera House. Workers paused from building the sets, their eyes searching the rafters and shadows. The young chorus girls were running back and forth, crying out in fear with every shadow, hurrying to gather their things. The actors laughed nervously at the young girls but they feared the sweet sounding melody that seemed to come from themselves.  
  
"This is a complete and utter outrage!" Armand Moncharmin yelled. He slammed the door to his office. He held a crumpled envelope in his hand, his fingers still tense around it. He looked at Firmin Richard, who was at his desk writing away. "Firmin!"  
  
The Opera manager looked up. The soft candlelight shined on his brushed back blonde hair. Firmin smiled slightly, cocking an eyebrow as he saw his friend's obvious anger. "What is it now, Armand?"  
  
Armand approached his joint manager and threw the envelope down with a grumble. "Look at that! Another note from the damned ghost of ours. With all the money he's asking for we'll be broke before we know it!" Armand fell into his chair with a sigh. He let his head fall back. "I thought we'd be making money for ourselves, not for some unseen mad man! And, to make it all worse, the man that was going to buy Box five, Monsieur Bovio, was frightened away the other night. The damned fool won't even return my calls."  
  
Firmin picked up the envelope and pulled out the letter. He scanned the words, showing no emotion. "My word!" he exclaimed. Firmin put his work down and examined the letter more thoroughly. "He's asking for twice as much money! What for?"  
  
"He gave no reason, Firmin!" Armand yelled. He ran a hand through his brown hair. The two became silent. The only sound drifting through the office was the music that seemed to emanate from every corner of the Opera House.  
  
With a cry of frustration Armand stood, nearly throwing his chair to the ground. He looked down at the wood floor, as if it were the source of the music. "I wish that hellish music would stop!" Armand yelled furiously. His voice echoed off the walls and caused Firmin to jump at his friend's burst of energy.  
  
Suddenly everything was silent. The two managers looked at each other in amazement. Armand gave a nervous laugh. "If I knew it was that easy, I would've done that earlier."  
  
A scream cut through the air causing Armand to jump, his hand coming to his heart as he let out a sigh. A loud crash suddenly rose from the short silence, making Armand turn and looks towards the door. Firmin stood and looked at his friend with a curious gaze. Another scream rang out, followed by a second crash. The two managers rushed out of their office, their hearts pounding in their chest.  
  
**********  
  
Erik listened to the yelling above him. His brown eyes were fixated on the flames of the candelabra. A loud crash sounded above his home once more. Erik smiled softly, laughing to himself. He never seemed to lose interest in the screaming of the chorus girls. Each was frightened of the shadowed figure, which seemed to be everywhere. Everything was blamed on him, the Opera Ghost, even though half of what happened wasn't his fault.  
  
The slender Siamese kitten came trotting to Erik, her eyes on her master with every step. She craned her head as she looked up at her master. With a purr she jumped onto Erik's waiting lap. Ayesha looked at him with half open eyes, her tail twitching around her. She purred and ran her head over Erik's stomach.  
  
"Oh, Ayesha." Erik whispered. He began to pet the slender feline with a gloved hand. His eyes turned to the purring Siamese; a soft smile crossed his face. "It seems you've become restless as well. Night after night, the two of us sit awake, you chasing after spiders and mice. Me. . . . Well, all I can manage to do is compose an opera. I still haven't figured a name for that damn thing."  
  
Ayesha meowed and opened her crystal blue eyes.  
  
Erik laughed softly. The sound drifted through the air and seemed to slither through the stones of his roof. "I don't think that would a suitable name, Ayesha." Erik said. He smiled softly and kissed the cat's head. She purred merrily. "It may do us both some good if we took a walk. The night air will be nice for us. I don't think it's too late, but there shouldn't be too many people out tonight."  
  
Ayesha jumped from her master's lap and trotted off.  
  
With a sigh Erik stood. He stretched his aching arms as he strode towards a coat rack. He plucked his cloak from the wooden handles and put it on. Shaking his head Erik and running hand through his hair, he took his hat and put it on. Pausing he stepped in front of the single mirror he owned. Erik looked at himself, swallowing what little anger and fear he had. He fixed his hat until he found it suitable.  
  
"Ayesha?" Erik called.  
  
The Siamese ran towards Erik, the bell on her collar ringing all the way. Erik bent down, his arms open. Ayesha jumped into his waiting arms, much like a child would. Erik smiled and held the kitten close as he stood. He planted a soft kiss on her head, the kitten raising her face to her master's happily.  
  
"Let's see if the moon is out to night; she can always bring a song to my mind." Erik said as he began walking. He looked at Ayesha who was staring back. "No need to worry, child; the opera house can do without me for a few hours. Besides, Mme. Giry should be delivering my letter soon enough."  
  
**********  
  
"How did this happen?" Armand yelled, his eyes scanning his employees. The stage was littered with costumes and most of the props were strewn about the seats. Armand looked at the faces of his amazed cast members and set crews. "Well? Who's going to clean this up?"  
  
No one moved. They looked at each other but said nothing. A few of the chorus girls huddled together whispering and shaking with fear. Their large eyes looked around, making sure nothing strange would sneak up on them.  
  
"Speak up!" Firmin said, his voice slightly raised. His eyes looked over everyone before him. "Does no one know how this happened? These things couldn't have done it themselves."  
  
Meg Giry stepped forward, shaking slightly. Her head was slightly bent, sending her curled hair over her eyes. She cleared her throat slightly. "It was the Phantom." Meg said in a meek voice. Her friends whispered behind her, frightened of what she had said.  
  
Armand narrowed his eyes. "What?"  
  
"It was the Phantom, sir." Meg repeated, this time a little louder.  
  
"I heard you the first time." Armand snapped.  
  
Firmin took Armand by the arm angrily and led him off to the side. The manager looked his friend in the eye. "These people are obsessed with this Phantom character, Armand. You knew damn well what the answer was." Firmin whispered. His eyes glanced over to Meg who had retreated to her friends. "Every misfortune that befalls this theatre is blamed on the Phantom. Ever since we arrived it is all they talk about."  
  
Armand shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Its all they know, Firmin. They claim to see the wretched thing." He laughed softly. "I will only believe in the damned thing once I see it." Turning on his heel, Armand faced the people of the Opera House. "Now then, I want you all to begin picking everything up! No one is to leave until it is finished, even if your dear Phantom is to arrive. Do you understand?"  
  
"Christine Daae has already left, sir." Meg suddenly said. She looked at the managers a sad look crossing her soft face. "She said she was feeling ill and took it upon herself to leave early. Christine is dreadfully sorry and promises to stay later the moment she can return. She would have informed you but. . . ."  
  
Firmin sighed. "It's all right. She isn't the only one to be sick."  
  
"M. Moncharmin and Richard. I have something for you."  
  
The two managers turned quickly. Madame Giry came walking down the aisle, taking her time as she surveyed what had been done. She was the mother of young Meg and held two jobs in the theatre; she was box keeper and dance instructor. Despite her growing age she still held the youthfulness of her daughter, which was rarely shown and covered by her strict rules.  
  
"What is it now?" Firmin sighed. He motioned to the mess around them all. "If you can't tell, we have something of a problem on stage."  
  
Mme. Giry raised her head slightly, looking down at the managers. "The Opera Ghost requested I give this to you, Monsieur." She held out her hand, which was clasped around an envelope. The managers' names were written on the envelope's face. "He said it is for you and you alone."  
  
Armand snatched the letter from Mme. Giry, who jumped slightly at the quickness of the man's reach. He eyed her for a moment, accusing her slightly with his eyes. Pulling open the envelope Armand pulled out a small piece of paper. His eyes scanned the words and his face slowly contorted into a look of anger and annoyance. "How dare he?"  
  
Firmin peered over his friend's shoulder. "What does it say?"  
  
"Our ghost is making threats! Can you believe that?" Armand hissed. He crumpled up the paper and shoved it into his pocket. He turned and faced Firmin. "No one is to tell him to stop his music, unless they wish to get involved in horrible consequences."  
  
Firmin opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off.  
  
"It would be wise, sir, to obey his wishes." Mme. Giry explained curtly. She raised her head slightly. With a sigh she began walking towards Meg. She placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder and then eyed the managers. "We wouldn't want anything to happen to anyone here, would we?"  
  
"No." Firmin said quickly. He looked at Armand. "Come, Armand, we should head back to the office. We have some letters to write and some money to send out to our friend."  
  
"I am not. . . ." Armand said with growing anger.  
  
Firmin clasped a hand over Armand's mouth. He shook his head. "I don't care what you think, but we should go along with this for now. Like Mme. Giry said, we don't want anything to happen. We'll strike back in due time."  
  
A smug smile crossed Armand's face as Firmin removed his hand. A plan was slowly forming in his mind. "I guess I can with hold all my anger for a while."  
  
"Good." Firmin looked at the members of the Opera. They stared back at their managers, wondering what was to happen. "Clean up this mess and then head home. You will receive extra money for this work." Armand gave Firmin a questioning look. "I know what I'm doing." Firmin smiled.  
  
**********  
  
Erik walked down the abandoned streets of Paris, a soft breeze giving his cloak life. Ayesha trotted in front of him, her tail held up in pride and her small bell singing with every movement. Erik smiled to himself, walking slowly and keeping an eye on his pet and sole companion. He treated the young cat more like his daughter than anything else. Everything Ayesha needed was given to her without a thought of why. He protected the kitten with his life and would do anything to keep her by his side.  
  
"Don't go too far, Ayesha." Erik called playfully.  
  
Ayesha glanced at Erik and meowed. The cat quickened her step. She looked at her master happily and let out another meow.  
  
"Ayesha." Erik called. "Listen to me."  
  
Suddenly the young Siamese sprang into a run. Her small feet carried her through the shadows and around the bend of the street with lightning fast speed. Erik stopped in mid-step, his heart all but stopped. His eyes widened in horror when he didn't see the face of Ayesha appear from the corner, beckoning him to run with her. She always found it fun to scare Erik, hiding for hours or running off whenever she felt the urge for him to follow. This time, though, she didn't seem to wait and see if he was following.  
  
"Ayesha!" Erik cried. He began to run down the sidewalk, following the cat's unseen trail. Erik's cloak billowed out behind him, his hat nearly falling from his head. He quickly held onto the hat, rounding the turn with incredible speed.  
  
Erik came to a stop, his heart skipping a beat as he froze in the lamp light. A young woman stood before him, her eyes wide with fear and Ayesha in her arms. The small cat looked at Erik and meowed happily. She looked up at the young woman and nuzzled against her arm. The woman's fingers trailed over the cat's fur for a moment, but her eyes were on Erik. Ayesha wriggled out of the young woman's arms, much to her dislike, and bounded for Erik. A bead of sweat ran down the girl's temple, but she quickly wiped it away.  
  
Silence settled around them. Ayesha had stopped purring and was now staring up at Erik, her small head cocked to one side. The young woman's wavy, dark brown hair danced in with the slight breeze. The two stared at each other. While fear danced in the young stranger's eyes, a look of adoration slowly began to form in Erik's.  
  
"Thank you, Mademoiselle, for finding my dear Ayesha." Erik said, finally breaking their silence. He picked up Ayesha and stroked her fur. "She is my prized possession and I don't know what I'd do without her." Erik's eyes drifted back to the young woman. Her face was flushed, but it didn't seem like it was from embarrassment. "Are you all right?"  
  
The young woman nodded, unable to speak. "I'm just feeling a little tired." she said, finding her voice. She spoke softly and her voice was gentle. Her hands fiddled with the tie of her cloak nervously, her fingers shaking slightly.  
  
Erik took a step towards the young woman, but she retreated just as quick. Her eyes were wide with a sense of fear. Ayesha jumped from Erik's arms and took her position on a doorstep. "Please, Mademoiselle, I do not wish you any harm. I would like to offer you an escort home."  
  
"It would be out of your way, Monsieur." the young woman protested. She lowered her eyes, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "I do not want you to spend your time bothering with someone like me. My home is not far from here; I can walk myself."  
  
"I insist." Erik said quickly. He took a few steps towards the young woman. Her eyes followed Erik, unblinking. "You caught my cat before she ran too far from me. This is all I can do in thanks."  
  
The young woman looked into Erik's eyes, finding the look of adoration they held. Her eyes shook for a moment but they never left Erik's. A wavered breath escaped her lips as she tried to reply. Her eyes fluttered and then rolled back. Without warning her body went limp and began to fall.  
  
Erik gasped and quickly took hold of the woman's falling body. His hat tumbled from his head with the sudden motion. Ayesha jumped in surprise as the hat fell a few inches from her. She meowed and looked at Erik as he tired to wake the young woman.  
  
"Mademoiselle?" Erik said. He shook the young woman slightly. Cautiously removing the glove from his hand, Erik pressed it against the woman's forehead. "I should've known. She's burning with a fever." Erik whispered. He studied the girl for a moment, his ungloved fingers stroking her cheek. "I suppose it's a good thing we ran into her. Who knows what might have happened if we weren't here."  
  
Ayesha let out a meow. She pawed anxiously at Erik's hat.  
  
Erik looked down at his pet. "Thank you, Ayesha." He picked up his hat and put it on, managing to keep the woman steady. "The only thing I can do is take her home with us, my dear. If we left her here she could be attacked or perhaps die from exposure to the chilled air."  
  
Without struggling Erik cradled the unconsciousness woman in his arms. He paused, looking her over. His heart skipped a beat; the young woman was beyond beautiful. Erik pushed back a strand of hair from her face.  
  
"Flawless beauty." Erik whispered with a soft smile. He sighed and looked down at Ayesha. "Come now. We must hurry before someone sees us."  
  
The two began their hurried walk home. 


	4. Chapter two

The soft music of an organ flowed through the wooden doors, slowly coaxing Christine from her sleep. She stirred in the bed, turning onto her back as the music surrounded her. With a soft breath her eyes slowly opened; her forehead felt like it was on fire. Strands of her hair clung to the sides of her face from a mixture of sweat and water. Her head swam with a slight dizziness and her mouth was dry.  
  
Christine slowly sat up. Her head pounded for a moment and she stopped, a hand flying to forehead. A folded towel tumbled off her brow as she touched it, landing on her lap. Christine picked it up, somewhat confused; the towel was almost dry. She looked around and noticed a small bowl filled with water, placed on a bedside table.  
  
'Where am I?' Christine thought. She put the towel next to the bowl of water. Christine felt something stir around her feet. She pulled her legs up to her, frightened of what it might be. Christine quickly noticed a small Siamese cat, curled into a ball, sound a sleep on the blankets. 'That cat looks familiar. What happened last night?' Christine watched the cat for a moment, letting the memories of the night before spring to life. 'She belongs to that man I saw in the street, the one dressed for a masquerade. Maybe. . . . Maybe this is his home. He must have brought me here when I blacked out. Oh dear! This can't be true!'  
  
The cat made a soft noise, causing Christine to cease her thoughts, but the feline didn't wake.  
  
Christine smiled softly, comforted slightly by the sleeping cat. She pushed the covers off her and let out a startled gasped. She no longer wore the red dress from the night before but a soft off-white nightdress. Christine felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment of the thoughts that came. Unless the strange man had a female companion, the man had changed her himself. She grew frightened of the thought and even more so of the soft music playing around her.  
  
Moving from the bed Christine pulled open the large wooden door and was surprised to find it unlocked. She was met by the soft organ music, which seemed to emanate from the walls themselves, as she crept from the room. Christine lifted her gown slightly and tiptoed across the cold, stone floor, afraid of making a sound. Her eyes wandered as she moved through the short hallway. There was nothing but stonewalls and a few candles placed for lighting. Christine slowly came to a stop as she passed through another set of doors. Her eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat as her eyes took in what lay before her.  
  
The main room of the unknown home seemed to open before her. A lavish fireplace sat against a wall, burning wood with a soft light and the soft snapping of burning wood nearly out sang the ghostly music. A Persian rug sat in front of the fireplace with books open and stacked up from an obvious late night of reading. An array of black and red velvet cushioned furniture graced the room itself. The only light, besides that of the fire, was that of low burning candles and oil lamps.  
  
Christine fell onto the cushions of one of the extravagant couches with a soft smile and a sigh of comfort. A wave of warmth flowed over her; she didn't know if it was the night's fever or the warmth of the fire, but she didn't care nonetheless. She let her head fall against the back of the couch with a smile. Christine's mind slowly drifted away from the fear of the unknown man, but towards the fact that she was in complete luxury and comfort; it was like she was in a dream.  
  
Time seemed to disappear as Christine began to wander the home she had woken in. She looked through rooms of books, art, and old sheets of music, seemingly put in far off rooms due to lack of use. A small area had been put to one side for a dinning and kitchen area. It looked neglected and tired, as if the strange man never bothered to eat. A few of the doors were locked, including the one in which the music seemed to flow from. She would pause for a moment and wonder what could behind those doors, her hand still lingering on the door's handle. Her imagination began to weave something from a fairy tale, so much so that Christine had to tear herself away from the doors and move along.  
  
Christine soon found herself back in the main room. She had taken a liking to the Persian rug and the warmth of the fireplace. She spent her time petting the sleepy cat, which had suddenly appeared, and flipping through the books that had been set out. They were books on medicine, herbs, and illnesses; who ever the man was, he had his mind set on helping Christine back to full health. She was impressed by it all, despite the strange and ominous feeling she had. This man had taken her away to a house that didn't have a single window; there was something strange about it all.  
  
"Good morning. I'm happy to see you're doing well."  
  
Christine jumped in surprise, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She turned quickly, unable to stand for a moment, and looked towards a once closed door. It was the man she met what only felt like hours before. The hat and cloak he once wore were gone, revealing a slim, well-built figure and brown hair that curled around his ears. A simple porcelain mask covered the right side of his face, which held an elaborate opening for his soft brown eye. He wore full evening dress and a pair of white gloves that covered his long, thin fingers.  
  
With a sudden intake of breath Christine struggled to her feet. She fixed the gown she wore, feeling her cheeks grow warm. Her eyes slowly shifted to Erik; a smile had shifted across his solemn face, giving him a warmer look. She felt a wave of ease flow over her as she saw the smile.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Erik asked. He moved around the couch slowly, making sure he didn't frighten his guest. Erik made no sound as he moved over the rug or the stone floor. He looked at Christine and motioned towards the couch. "Please, sit. Your cold will get worse sitting on the floor."  
  
Christine said nothing as she took Erik's suggestion. She watched as Erik disappeared from the room. She sat for a moment, wondering what was happening and was some what confused. Erik suddenly reappeared, brining in a tray of cups and a tea kettle. He placed it on the small table in front of the couch, positioning it for his ease. Erik began pouring the drinks, his eyes never coming in contact with Christine's. Christine, though, watched Erik's every movement in a daze. Her eyes were wide, not in fear but in child-like wonder as he moved his hands in a skilled manner.  
  
Erik turned to give Christine a cup but stopped. Their eyes met for an instant, an instant which felt like an eternity to Erik. Christine's cheeks grew rosy and she turned her eyes abruptly. Erik felt the same feeling rising in him, but managed to subside it all.  
  
"You should drink this." Erik said gently. Christine looked at him, somewhat frightened. Erik smiled, trying to coax her like a wounded animal. "It's just an old tea recipe from Persia. It will help your fever."  
  
Christine took the cup and looked into it. With a soft breath she could smell the tea and lemon that had been boiled together, along with a few other spices. She smiled slightly and began to drink. Her eyes wandered to Erik as she did. Erik was putting a small bowl of soup onto the table and slowly gathering everything up. He hadn't touched the tea he had poured for himself.  
  
As Erik stood to leave Christine put her cup down. "Thank you." she said, her voice soft and quivering. She looked up at Erik, who had paused for a moment, going rigid. He looked at her, a look of disbelief wandering through his eyes.  
  
"Excuse me?" Erik asked, sitting and placing the tray back onto the table. His eyes were filled with confusion as he stared at Christine.  
  
"I said thank you. The tea is really nice." Christine said. She lowered her eyes, her fingers beginning to wind themselves around the cuff of her gown. "I was amazed to find myself in good care when I woke. Actually I was frightened beyond belief, but when I saw your cat I felt a little safer; I remembered it from the night before. It isn't every day one wakes up in an unknown home, being taken care of and changed in new clothes. But. . . ." Christine's voice trailed off. She looked into Erik's eyes and noticed a strange twinkle that was urging her on. "When I heard that music," Christine whispered. "it made me feel that everything would be okay; that I was in good care. Your music is so soothing and beyond beautiful. I have been on the rug for hours, I believe, and just drifting along with your songs." She laughed nervously.  
  
A smile crossed Erik's face, but quickly disappeared. His eyes lowered and he cleared his throat. "Thank you for those kind words. . . . ."  
  
"Daae!" Christine said, interrupting. Her cheeks now had a child's rosy color to it. "My name is Christine Daae."  
  
Erik nodded, as if he already knew what her name was. The memory of the young suitor, though, began racing through his head. The insolent and idiotic boy was on his way to send her flowers. Erik understood why; this young woman was beautiful beyond his imagination. He seemed happy with himself that he had destroyed the aristocrat's crush on the chorus girl. This young beauty was now his for the taking. Erik quickly pushed that thought out of his mind; he couldn't do such a thing. It wasn't in his nature.  
  
With a smile Erik's eyes met with Christine's. "My name is Erik."  
  
Christine smiled softly. "That's a beautiful name." Her fingers soon began to trace the rim of her tea cup. "A suitable name for such a talented man. It seems that you enjoy music. I do as well, so much so that I'm a chorus girl for the city's opera house. I do ballet also." She lifted her eyes to Erik. "Have you ever been to the Opera House?"  
  
Erik had to stop himself from laughing. He knew, though, that no one in the opera's company truly knew who he was. Erik had made sure that he was only seen when he chose to. The young ballet girls were the ones he took joy in scaring. Their high-pitched screams made him laugh even harder as he watched them run in every direction. As he thought, Erik had never once spotted Christine amongst the girls. He had always considered they stayed together.  
  
"Yes," Erik replied with a smile. "I go to the Opera for every performance."  
  
Christine's eyes widened in amazement. "Every performance? You must be a man of high class! What box do you own? You must own one!" Slowly she began to ramble on. "I haven't met a single regular who doesn't own a box in the theatre. It would cost so much if you bought a regular ticket for every performance."  
  
"Box five." Erik said without much thought.  
  
A sudden silence settled between them. Christine stared at Erik with a blank expression. She blinked, unable to respond. Erik averted his eyes to the fireplace, cursing to himself softly for being such an idiot. The way Christine had looked at him, though, caused his memories to stir. He slowly began to remember the torments he received from the children near his home and the way the young girls would run and scream when he'd look at them. Through the years he had taken enjoyment of their screams, but hid himself from their eyes. Now Christine was staring at him with an expression he would see before the young girls would begin to scream those years ago.  
  
"You own box five?" Christine asked, managing to regain her voice. Her hand took hold of her cup and she took a quick drink. "I was told that box five is owned by. . . ."  
  
"The Opera Ghost?" Erik asked. A soft smile of pride came across his lips. He saw the disbelief cross Christine's face. He laughed softly. "Believe me, Mademoiselle; I am anything but a ghost."  
  
Christine clasped her hands together and she placed them in her lap. Her eyes stared into Erik's, studying them and, in turn, studying the mask he wore. "Who are you, then? Many crew people have watched the door to box five. The only person ever to be seen entering that box was Madame Giry. How do get there without being seen?"  
  
Erik's mind began to work quickly. A story of mystery and music began to fill his mind, but he turned that away. He wished to tell her the truth, but lying seemed too tempting. Could he lie to Christine though? If he told her, would she believe him, or find out the lie? He only had one of finding out.  
  
"I am. . . . I am like an angel, Christine. I'm rarely seen." Erik spoke gently, hoping and praying that Christine would believe him, even in the slightest way.  
  
"The Angel of Music." Christine breathed. Her eyes seemed to soften as she seemed to slip into a memory. "My father told me of an angel who bore the title of the Angel of Music. This angel would aid those worthy enough, whether it was writing, singing, or playing music. My father said that the Angel will find me and help me. Please, will you teach me to sing?"  
  
Erik gave Christine a quizzical look. As he looked at Christine's childlike face, he felt his own doubt and morals diminish. She truly thought that Erik was an angel; not just any angel, but an angel of music. His simple lie had grown, but in a way he was an angel of music. He could teacher her and with teaching her, be with her.  
  
Cautiously Erik wrapped his gloved hands around hers. He smiled softly when Christine didn't pull away in fear. "You wish for me to teach you?" Erik asked.  
  
Christine nodded eagerly. "Yes! Please! I will do anything you ask if it would mean you teaching me." Her hands tightened around Erik's, her eyes peering into Erik's. "My dream is to sing with a voice that could make a person weep. Father told me that it was possible if I could find a teacher." With a quivering hand Christine touched Erik's cheek lightly. "I may have found a teacher who just happens to be the Angel of Music."  
  
Erik suddenly pulled away, standing quickly. He couldn't do this; he couldn't teach her. Erik had helped her but had helplessly fallen for her and now she was close enough to kiss. All she wanted was to be taught by the Angel of Music and Erik was the one she thought to be the Angel.  
  
Erik had frightened her with the sudden movement, but Christine hid the emotion well. She looked up at Erik who returned the soft gaze. "Will you teach me?" Christine asked again.  
  
Slowly Erik looked down at Christine, meeting her gaze. Her light brown eyes looked up at him, begging him to oblige her simple request. With a simple smile Erik felt his fears melt away and only saw that Christine was the angel he had been looking for himself.  
  
"I will teach you but it will on my conditions." Erik said, finally breaking through his silence. He took a seat, this time further from Christine. "You must devote yourself to your teachings and not let anyone interfere. We will rehearse in your dressing room almost every night; a few lessons will be taught here as well."  
  
"When will you arrive? I can see to it that no one is with me." Christine asked.  
  
Erik shook his head. "You will only hear my voice, but I will show myself when needed." Erik looked into Christine's eyes; she looked a little more than confused. He smiled softly, watching as a smile soon spread over the girl's face. "I am your protector, Christine. Under my guidance you will sing like an angel. And I," Erik lightly touched Christine's cheek, "will lift you to the clouds of heaven."  
  
Christine smiled happily and took Erik's hand into her own. Tears of joy welled up in her eyes and began to trail down her rosy cheeks. With a slender finger Erik wiped them away. 


	5. Chapter three

Erik drummed his fingers irritably against the side of his piano. His eyes gazed into the music he had written, the song playing continuously in his mind, only to stop at the crescendo of the song he couldn't finish. With growing anger Erik began to play the crescendo, with much emotion, but would come to a stop, unable to finish once more. He narrowed his eyes; his own creation was getting the best of him.  
  
Ayesha slept on the satin sheets of Erik's bed, her velvet and diamond studded collar removed and placed on one of the pillows beside her. The young Siamese stirred, rolling onto her other side. Her purring drifted through the air like a soft fog, causing Erik to glance at her. A soft yawn escaped her as she stretched sleepily.  
  
The door to Erik's room opened without a sound. Christine walked in, her footsteps muted by the soft Persian rug; one that seemed to out shine the one in the front room. Erik cocked his head to one side, but didn't look at Christine face to face. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye giving no sense of emotion, his unfinished song still pulling on his mind.  
  
"Erik." Christine said. The young woman's hair was pulled back, but a few ringlets still fell around her shoulders. Her eyes were wide in awe as they scanned the room. It was the first time she had ventured into the room; Erik had finally given her permission to enter his room only if he were there. Christine's eyes quickly returned to Erik when she saw him move, a little unnerved about being in such a place.  
  
Erik ran a hand through his brown hair. "Yes, Christine, what is it?" he asked, scribbling a few notes onto his sheet of music. His gloved hands soon began to move up and down the keys, sending his sweet music into the air. A slight smile appeared on his face. Erik's full attention turned back to his original interest; his music.  
  
Christine took a few steps deeper into the, fidgeting with her hands nervously. "I was wondering when I could return home and the opera house." Her eyes began to wander around the dimly lit room again. The room was nearly empty, with a chair here and there, but nothing compared to the other rooms she had seen. A large grandfather clock stood in the corner, ticking away with every second. "I know I have been gone for a day, at the least, but people will begin to worry. Meg Giry would be in tears if I was nowhere to be found. If I don't return soon, the managers of the opera house won't pay me; I must work."  
  
By now Erik was enveloped by his music. His eyes were glazed over and his fingers moved across the keys with ease and grace. His eyes slowly closed and his head tilted back slightly. "I have much work for you, Christine." Erik said, almost singing the words to his music. He turned his head and opened his eyes, starring deep into Christine's. "You are not over your cold yet, teaching you in this condition could ruin your voice. I want to keep you here to manage your fever. Without my knowledge, your cold could double its intensity."  
  
Christine began to protest but stopped. Erik had stopped playing his music and now looked at Christine with a sense of anger in his eyes. He rose from his chair and approached her. Christine backed away from her approaching teacher. His shadow enveloped her own and soon swept over her face like an ominous cloud.  
  
"Do you want me to teach you, Christine?" Erik asked. The anger lingered in his voice, but he was trying hard to suppress it.  
  
"Y-yes." Christine stuttered. Her eyes were wide with fear. She never noticed how tall Erik was until that moment. He loomed over her, forcing her to take a step back out of habit. "I must return to the opera house. Erik, it's the only way I can survive in the world; I have no other idea of where to work."  
  
Erik turned sharply away from Christine. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists in anger. He could feel her eyes on him, those eyes that always seemed to question him and pry off his mask. Erik let out a wavering sigh as memories of his past once more began to surface; moments of torment and those painful nights looking at his unmasked face, listening to the screams of years past echo in his mind.  
  
"Then go." Erik whispered, those screams from years ago ringing in his ears.  
  
Christine blinked, not knowing how to react. "What?"  
  
Erik spun around, his eyes now full of unrequited anger. "Go! Leave me; leave everything behind that I could have given you. If the damned opera house means more than the music I promised you, than go. Forget what I've done for you; forget every dream you've ever had in these hallowed walls. I will not stand to teach an insolent woman who fears to send a poignant chorus girl into tears."  
  
Tears had begun to trickle down Christine's cheeks. She stared at Erik for a moment but lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it sound like that I didn't care for what you've done for me. Will you still teach me?" Christine watched Erik; he looked at her with a sense of disgust, as if what she had asked was like nothing he had ever heard. She wiped her tears away. "Please, Erik, please forgive my rudeness. Will you not teach me?"  
  
Christine took Erik's hand but he pulled away swiftly. He turned away from her and walked to his piano, his fingers running across the wood frame as he did so. He took a seat and didn't give Christine another look. Once again his eyes seemed to change appearance as Erik began to play a song unknown to Christine.  
  
The music leapt from Erik's fingers and into the chords of the piano. Slowly, as if lead by a chain around her neck, Christine began to approach the piano. Her tears were gone and now a look of wonder filled her brown eyes. She took in a breath and paused, tearing herself from the trance, feeling a wave of fear and confusion wash over her; she couldn't explain what just happened. Still Erik continued with the soft tune.  
  
Slowly Christine noticed Erik's lips were moving as if he was singing with the song. Christine began to approach Erik once more; she tried in vain to listen to Erik's voice, but all she heard was the piano. Before she knew it, Christine was standing next to Erik, still straining to listen to her teacher sing.  
  
Christine slowly noticed Erik's eyes had turned to her once more. She felt her cheeks grow warm; a soft smile crossed her face. Erik didn't smile, but raised his voice to an audible level. He stared at Christine, unblinking and slowly stood to his feet and ceasing his wonderful music but letting his voice take its place.  
  
"Since first I saw your face I resolved to honor and renown ye. . . . If now I be disdained I wish my heart had never known ye."  
  
The sound that escaped Erik was indescribable; it was nothing like Christine had imagined. His voice was sweet and strong, it held the intensity that could crush the world's best singers. It suited him, giving the aura of mystery an even stronger sense and lending him a glamorous persona. Christine could only imagine that angels wept at the sound of his voice.  
  
Erik took Christine's face into his hands and continued to sing the nameless song. Their eyes locked and Christine felt her heart skip a beat as Erik leaned his face closer to hers; he was now singing to her and to her only. His eyes stared into hers, letting his music feed into the heart of his only student.  
  
The song seemed to be without an end and Erik continued to stare into Christine's eyes. His fingers caressed her, his hands cupping her chin and raising her chin ever so slightly. Christine's eyes closed slowly as Erik's haunting song continued. His fingers trailed down her neck, causing her to shudder but she didn't draw away, almost afraid to lose such contact.  
  
Erik's feather touches continued. He drew closer to Christine, his voice softer than before as he sang softly into her ear. His hands came to her shoulders, pausing there for an instant before trailing down her arms. Erik had never touched a woman with such emotions feeding into his mind; it was frightening in a way. His hands shook slightly and as they grazed over Christine's fingers, her hands opened and slowly took Erik's hands into her own. Erik's voice grew softer until the song was only a memory, his face close to Christine's. His hands never left hers; he didn't want this moment to end.  
  
The two stood in silence. Erik let out a soft sigh, a little amazed to feel Christine shudder. Her hands pulled away from Erik's but soon she put her arms around him, embracing him and Erik could only return it. He held her close, taking in a breath and smelling the floral perfume that had been placed in her room.  
  
"Do you still wish to leave, Christine? Will you leave me to my world and to my music?" Erik whispered, his lips grazing Christine's cheek as he slowly pulled away from her. In his mind he knew this wasn't right; he shouldn't be having these feelings for a woman he barely knew, he shouldn't be touching her and wishing for more.  
  
"No." Christine replied. A final tear crept down her cheek as she looked into his eyes. "I want you to teach me. Please, Erik, sing for me again."  
  
Erik took a step back, lifting Christine's face. He wiped away the tears that lingered on her rosy cheeks. She smiled softly, but Erik didn't return the gesture. Her heart felt heavy as Erik turned back to his piano. The magic between them had disappeared with his majestic song. It was as if that moment had never happened.  
  
The silence between them lengthened as Erik sat at the piano, resting his gloved fingers on the keys. A sigh escaped him and he slowly pulled his hands away. "Tomorrow I will escort you back to the opera house, Christine." Erik said without looking at her. He closed his eyes slowly. "You should feel better, and I trust that you will return to me."  
  
A smile crossed Christine's face. "Thank you."  
  
Erik's only reply was the slow movement of his fingers returning to his piano. Soon the song he had played began to sound once more. Christine walked over to Ayesha, who was still sleeping; she sat on Erik's bed, stroking the cat's fur and humming the melody of the song as he teacher sang.  
  
"Since first I saw your face I resolved to honor and renown ye. If now I be disdained I wish my heart had never known ye. What I that loved, and you that liked shall we begin to wrangle."  
  
Christine lay down on the satin blankets, her eyes slowly closing and her fingers still stroking the Siamese. She listened as Erik's voice seemed to drift into silence and the only sound was her breathing. Christine let her hand come to rest on Ayesha. She could feel the cat purring with joy.  
  
Before Erik knew it, Christine was asleep. He stood a few feet away from his bed, watching his student and cat slumber. He smiled to himself; he had won Christine's heart through music. Erik was now one step closer to the only thing he wanted. One precious, beautiful step closer to his goal; love. 


	6. Chapter four

Fresh rain glistened on the empty streets of Paris; the sun shielded from view, giving the city a look of night. As the rain let up the people still remained in their homes, warming themselves by fires and wishing for the days of summer. A few carriages rolled down the street, water splashing beneath the turning wheels and onto the sidewalks. Birds twittered in the trees and soon sang as they emerged from their shelters.  
  
Erik led Christine through the alleyways of the city, slinking through the shadows and dodging the eyes of those who ventured out on the dreary day. A blindfold had been placed over Christine's eyes, preventing her from knowing the location of Erik's home. He had taken the precaution and was now returning to the opera house. He didn't trust Christine enough to let her know how to enter his home; she could sooner bring an unwanted guest than news of her being the lead role.  
  
Slowly the two came to a stop, Christine breathing a sigh of relief but making no move to remove the blindfold. Erik looked about, tilting his hat so a shadow passed over the right side of his face, comforting him in the simplest way. His fingers worked around the ties of the blindfold slowly. Christine didn't move as the cloth was removed from her face. Christine's eyes fluttered open and sparkled when they met with Erik's. A soft smile crossed her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but Erik placed a slender finger against her lips. Christine nodded and remained silent.  
  
Taking Christine's hand into his own, Erik began their journey back to the Paris Opera House. The alleys were clear of people, leaving a cloak of security around the two. Erik had suggested taking the alleys and Christine didn't complain; the mask had frightened her and would, no doubt, frighten others. She still feared the mask and what may lie beneath, but she would scold herself if she stared at the object or had thought of ripping it away.  
  
Finally Erik came to a stop; the opera house stood in front of them. Christine squeezed Erik's hand in a sudden twinge of fear, but he didn't return it. Erik gave Christine a glance before dashing across the street, dodging an oncoming carriage. The speed caused their cloaks to spring to life, letting them dance together in the rushing wind.  
  
"You mustn't make a sound when we enter, and mustn't speak of me or where you have been," Erik whispered, leading Christine away from the main entrance. He glanced around a corner before leading Christine down a darkened stairway. He moved in silence, much like the Siamese he owned. "I don't wish to be seen by others." Erik motioned to his mask and all Christine could do was nod in acceptance.  
  
Erik tugged on the door and wasn't at all surprised to find it locked. Pulling a small pin from an unseen pocket, Erik worked the door's lock like a master. His brown eyes glistened as he heard a small click. Placing the pin back into its place, he pulled open the door. Christine smiled with amusement at Erik's ability. He smiled softly and took Christine's hand once more. Without a sound the two disappeared into the darkness of the opera house.  
  
**********  
  
"She's been gone for two days!" Armand cried, causing Meg and Mme. Giry to jump. Firmin turned away from the set directors and sighed, watching as Armand continued his rant. "Christine hasn't been seen at all? Did you search her home? Her dressing room? Do you know of her family?" The string of questions grew, causing both Meg and her mother to answer with a mere yes or no.  
  
Firmin smiled and shook his head. He moved to his friend and placed a hand on his shoulder. Armand fell silent and Meg and her mother looked at him. "Just check Mademoiselle Daae's dressing room once more. If she isn't to be found we will call the police. You're help is beyond our thanks."  
  
Mme. Giry gave a quick nod and led her daughter away. Armand looked at Firmin angrily. He shook off his friend's hand and walked towards the stage. Firmin frowned and followed Armand closely.  
  
"What's come over you, Armand?" Firmin asked harshly. He trotted up the stage stairs. "You've been barking orders at our workers like never before."  
  
"These people are too difficult." Armand said, rounding on his friend. "They cannot find a single chorus girl. She must know that a chorus member is easy to replace, because it seems like she doesn't give a damn. Because of Mademoiselle Daae we've been set back two days in the rehearsals of this production."  
  
Firmin stared at Armand in disbelief. "Mademoiselle Daae has been ill, Armand. Maybe her illness has sent her away and she had no means of contacting us." he suggested. He watched as Armand began to work with a set designer. "You can't be serious about replacing her. She's sick, for God's sake! You're taking this job too seriously."  
  
Armand looked at Firmin and frowned. "And you're not taking it serious enough!" He motioned for his friend to follow. The two began a slow walk around the stage, watching the chorus girls dance and singers begin their warm ups. "These people belong to us, Firmin. We have to be strict or they will walk all over us. It's as if we're their parents."  
  
"I understand." Firmin replied. "You should keep your mind on rehearsal schedules. When Mademoiselle Daae returns, I'll have a talk with her."  
  
"That is if she returns." Armand said bitterly.  
  
**********  
  
"When will you come for me?" Christine asked. Her eyes searched Erik's face for an unspoken answer. He tried to avoid her prying eyes but she persisted. "I want to see you again."  
  
Erik turned away; her question was innocent enough but he heard something in those words that sounded like something so much more. He looked at Christine and let a soft smile cross his face. Taking her hands into his own, he nodded. "If it's what you wish, I will return to you in a week's time. You'll return with me and you may spend two days within my home. You can have a few lessons while you visit, but I want you to rest while you're there."  
  
Christine smiled in pure joy. She nodded, not able to give Erik the answer verbally. His eyes seemed to sparkle with a sudden surge of joy. Christine looked at Erik, studying his face closely but focusing on his mask. It was an elaborate piece of art, having a place for his eye, painted with mute colors. The other side of his face was beautiful; his brown eyes seemed to make his pale skin glow and his hair lingered in his face, giving him a childlike look.  
  
"Thank you, Erik." Christine said with a smile.  
  
Erik smiled in response. With his free hand he brushed away a strand of hair from Christine's face. Her eyes stared into his and he paused for a moment. "Tonight is your first vocal lesson, Christine. Be in your dressing room alone. You will hear me and nothing else."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Erik raised Christine's hand to his lips and kissed it softly. Christine shuddered at the coldness of his touch, but did nothing else. Erik looked up at her, his eyes changing emotion. She smiled softly and he did the same. He leaned his face closer to hers, causing Christine's heart to beat faster.  
  
"Tell no one of me, Christine; they will only ask troublesome questions. Do you understand?" Erik asked, his voice a hushed whisper.  
  
"Of course." Christine replied in the same manner. She could hardly speak as she stared into Erik's eyes. Once again they were so close to each other. Her thought's quickly betrayed her once more; a thought of prying the mask from his face blossomed in her mind but she pushed it away franticly, wishing nothing of it. Then her mind was full of the memories of the night before, of the way he had sung to her and touched her, of how it seemed he wished to kiss her. Soon she was wondering if he had the intentions of kissing her. Christine's question was quickly answered as Erik leaned his face closer to hers.  
  
"Mademoiselle!"  
  
"Christine!"  
  
Jumping at the sudden cry Christine pulled away from Erik. She turned quickly, seeing Meg and her mother coming down the dimly lit hall. She turned to look at Erik, to wish him farewell, but he was gone. The only thing remaining of the masked man was a thin gold necklace in her hands. She hadn't seen him carrying it, but had the feeling that this angel was also a magician of sorts. 


	7. Chapter five

Erik settled into one of the velvet-lined chairs in Box five, letting a sigh of comfort escape him as he leaned into the soft fabric. The box was always dimly lit whenever he ventured there; it was light enough to see but it also had the comfort of being veiled in darkness. In this solitude he had time to reflect on the events of the past few days. He couldn't believe what he had done-- what he had agreed to do. Christine adored him because she saw him as an angel willing to teach her to sing, not for what he truly was. Erik's mind slowly replayed what had happened between them and he shuddered at the memories.  
  
'What have I done,' Erik thought.  
  
The chorus girls had assembled on stage and the orchestra pit was filled with the players. Erik turned his attention to the rehearsal, a little more than interested to see how far along they were. He sat back in his chair, listening to the music of 'Hannibal' as the orchestra began to play. His eyes watched as the youthful girls danced across the stage in the costumes they had just received. After a few moments Christine and Meg hustled onto the stage, both dressed in costume, and managed to fall in step with the rest of the girls with incredible ease.  
  
"Monsieur?"  
  
Erik jumped slightly but let out a soft sigh as soon as he recognized the soft, demanding voice of Mme. Giry. He made no attempt to acknowledge the woman or move from his chair. His eyes still watched the chorus girls dance around the stage. Erik's fingers itched to play his own scores; to watch and listen as others performed his pieces of art.  
  
"Have they been worried?" Erik asked, finally breaking the silence. He let his elbows come to rest on the chair's arms, bring his hands together and bringing them near his lips. His eyes watched the girls intently but he listened for the woman's voice  
  
"Yes." Mme. Giry replied. She made no effort to move towards Erik, but remained at the curtains of the box as if to guard it. "She plays one of the main slave girls in this opera. It is a step up for her, you know; we have been proud."  
  
"Shouldn't you be down there instructing the girls?" Erik asked in annoyance.  
  
Mme. Giry took in a soft breath. "They know what they're doing, Monsieur. I came here to see if you were the same."  
  
Erik tensed slightly, feeling the stab of the woman's angry tone. He removed his hat and placed it on the chair beside him, smoothing his hair slightly. "She has such potential as a singer, Mme. Giry. Did you know that?" Erik didn't bother to wait for the woman's reply. "I have heard her sing when she thinks no one is there or listening. If given the chance and the right teacher she could become one of the best singers this opera house has seen. Therefore, I have taken Mademoiselle Daae as my pupil."  
  
Mme. Giry let out a vague gasp. "Monsieur! Mademoiselle Daae is a very naive child; her mind is full of fairy tales and nonsense! It has been worse ever since her father died."  
  
Erik paused; Christine had failed to mention such a thing. He pushed the thought from his mind, only for another to appear. "How old is she?" he whispered.  
  
"Almost twenty." Mme. Giry replied softly. She began to grow uneasy as she heard Erik mutter that she was only five years younger than he. "She is young, Monsieur, and too delicate! You mustn't fill her mind with the dreams you weave. It has only been two years since her father left this world; mademoiselle Daae is still healing."  
  
"I understand, Mme. Giry!" Erik said, his tone growing bitter. He clenched a hand into a fist. He grew silent, letting the only sound come from him was his own breathing. Swallowing his anger, Erik continued. "Answer me one more question, if you please. Who is the lead female in this opera?"  
  
Mme. Giry paused. "Carlotta Giudicelli."  
  
Slipping his hand into his cloak, Erik produced a small envelope. He placed it on the small table separating his chair and the empty one beside it. "Give this letter to the managers. It is of urgent news, Madame, so I hope it is given to them as quickly as possible."  
  
Slowly approaching the table, Mme. Giry bent down to pick up the letter. Her eyes turned Erik and she froze. He watched her, silently, out the corner of his eye, the white mask hiding any emotion on display. She felt a cold chill run down her spine. Mme. Giry quickly grabbed the letter and turned to walk away.  
  
"Oh," Erik said, suddenly, "one more thing."  
  
"Yes, monsieur." Mme. Giry replied, slowly turning back to Erik.  
  
Erik placed fifty francs on the table. "I wish for a glass of wine. The best you can find." He turned in his chair, catching Mme. Giry as she bent to pick up the money. She froze and stared into his eyes, as his hand took hold of hers tightly. "If anyone asks, you are buying the wine for Signora Giudicelli; they'd believe that soon enough. If you make mention of me, you know what I'm capable of." Erik released his grip on the woman's hand. "If there is any money left after you buy the wine, keep it for yourself and your daughter."  
  
Mme. Giry back away, the money clutched to her chest as if it was keeping hold of her courage. She looked down at the money. "I couldn't, monsieur."  
  
"You don't get paid enough for what you do." Erik replied. He turned in his seat and gazed across the empty seats. In a few days all the seats would be packed full of people; people here to see Carlotta. Of course, Erik had other plans for Signora Giudicelli. "You've taught so many people, Madame." Erik said, continuing. "And you've seen many things, so many horrid things." Laughter soon burst forth from Erik's body.  
  
**********  
  
Christine sat in her dressing room, staring dreamily into the mirror of her vanity dresser. She smiled softly and raised a brush to her curly black hair. So much had happened in so little time. After spending only a matter of days with Erik, Christine felt as if she had been changed. The Angel's voice seemed to raise her spirits and ignite a newfound flame in her soul.  
  
The necklace Erik had given her was placed next to her handbag. Christine looked at it and smiled, remembering the moments before Meg and her mother arrived; their lips almost met. Christine shuddered at the thought and could almost swear she felt Erik beside her, touching her cheek softly. She looked at her reflection, hoping to see him but wasn't surprised to see only her reflection looking back.  
  
A soft knock sounded at the closed door. Christine didn't bother to turn, but looked into her mirror; the door reflected in the glass, unmoving. She hoped the intruder would leave her in peace so she could prepare for her night's lesson. The knock came again. Christine lowered her eyes to the necklace. She took it and slipped it on as yet another knock rang out.  
  
With a sigh Christine put her hands into her lap with a sigh. "Come in." she said. She examined her reflection for a moment before turning her eyes to the opening door. The petite frame of Meg appeared in her mirror. The young girl's cheeks were flushed from an obvious run and her breaths came in gasps; her eyes were wide with fear and other than her flushed cheeks she was as white as a sheet.  
  
"Meg!" Christine cried. She stood quickly and rushed to her young friend, taking her into her arms. "What's wrong, Meg? It looks like you've seen a ghost!" The small girl gave no reply. Christine closed the door and led her friend to a small couch. The two sat, Christine trying to comfort Meg. "What's wrong? There has to be something wrong, Meg. I can see it your eyes. Please tell me."  
  
Slowly Meg looked up at Christine. She blinked and a tear trickled down her cheeks. "Joseph Bouquet is dead, Christine! He was hung from the catwalk. No one knew he was there until his body fell, nearly crushing Signora Giudicelli! They say it was suicide, but why would he do such a thing? He was a happy man."  
  
Christine let out a startled gasp. Joseph Bouquet was the person in charge set changer, and the best at that. He did no harm, but managed to fabricate the most tales about the Opera Ghost. The chorus girls would gather around, begging him to retell tales of his encounters with the ghost.  
  
'He saw us!' Christine remembered, her heart skipping a beat. She remembered that instant as they rounded a dark corridor and in the distance a light could be seen. Erik had stepped in front of Christine, shielding her but she had peered around him, only to find Joseph standing in the faint light. The look in his eyes showed his fear. 'Joseph saw Erik bring me into the opera house. My Lord, why didn't I think of this before? That look Erik gave him was enough to kill anyone's soul. Joseph could only imagine that Erik was a ghost.'  
  
"Christine?"  
  
"What?" Christine asked, a little more than startled.  
  
Meg looked at Christine, her eyes wide with child like innocence. "Is everything okay? Ever since you came back from your disappearance you've been acting strange, you've never acted like this before." Her eyes studied Christine's face. She blinked and smiled slightly. "Maybe it's because of the man mama and I saw you with."  
  
Christine smiled and felt her cheeks flush. She had a feeling Meg had seen Erik, but hoped that she didn't. She hoped so now, more than ever, in fear of what Erik may do to her. "He's just a friend; nothing more." she replied softly.  
  
"You have an admirer!" Meg swooned. She looked at Christine dreamily. "Oh how lucky you are, Christine! Are you going to fulfill your father's wishes soon? Will you finally find your man and marry? Oh, how lovely it would be to see you with a young baby in your arms. The child will look like you!"  
  
A soft laugh escaped Christine. "You're jumping to conclusions, Meg. I have not thought of marriage with this man; I have known him for only a few days. Like I said he's nothing more than a friend."  
  
Meg smiled slyly. "I saw how he was holding you Christine and how he was looking into your eyes. That was a look of love."  
  
"Meg!" Christine cried out.  
  
"Ha! You're blushing, Christine, I must be right."  
  
"You are not, Meg! You don't know what was happening."  
  
"Oh, but I do! The way you two were so close, locked in that embrace." Meg giggled as she continued. "It looked as if he was to kiss you, and you weren't making a single move to stop him. You can't tell me that this isn't true."  
  
Christine blushed and turned her head away, trying to hide her smile of joy. The idea Erik coming so close to kissing her was something that sent a shock through her body. She knew the idea was odd; a mortal loving an angel in the manner of a lover was something that no one seemed to think of. Still, Erik didn't seem to care and Christine couldn't deny she didn't care either.  
  
Meg suddenly let out a gleeful squeal, catching Christine off guard. "You're face has turned so red!" The young chorus girl threw her arms around Christine. "You do have more than feelings of friendship towards this man; I can see it in your eyes. There is no denying it now! Don't worry, though! I promise not to mention a word of this to anyone."  
  
Before Christine could reply, the giddy chorus girl had run out of the room. She felt a smile form on her face once again. She knew Meg had seen through the fabricated lies; she did adore Erik, but she couldn't figure out if his actions before was more than a test; a test to see if she would give into something as simple human urges. Christine hoped that is wasn't and prayed that Erik's feelings were of affection.  
  
**********  
  
"This isn't good!" Firmin said reading over the Opera Ghost's latest letter. He sighed, putting the letter face down before himself. "I had a hunch he was behind this!"  
  
Armand lifted his head from his desk; anger reflected in his eyes as he looked at his business companion. "How could you tell? That damned ghost didn't even give an insinuation of his hand in what happened. It can't plainly be in that letter."  
  
Firmin shrugged. "True, but he did say that if Signora Giudicelli is not stripped of her leading role a great misfortune will fall upon her." He grabbed the letter and put it in its envelope, slowly looking at Armand coldly. "Just today Joseph Bouquet was killed and fell, nearly hitting la Carlotta. Now, tell me this isn't our ghost's doing."  
  
"Our friend is quiet tricky." Armand said, slowly standing and stretching his arms.  
  
Firmin nodded. "And he always happens to be seen or heard from after our little 'accidents' are committed. If anything happens there is always a letter waiting for us when we return."  
  
"And who, Armand, is the only person the delivers the letters to us?" Firmin asked with a menacing smile.  
  
Armand paused. "Mme. Giry!"  
  
"Precisely!"  
  
"What are you saying, Firmin? Do you think Mme. Giry is behind all this? Pardon my saying, but she doesn't seem like the person to do such a thing."  
  
"No! What I was saying is that Mme. Giry must speak or see our ghost to receive the letters. So, if, by chance, we have someone follow Mme. Giry around, without her knowing of course, we could find out who our ghost is."  
  
Armand smiled and approached Firmin. "A wonderful idea! But are you serious about this? If Mme. Giry, or our ghost, found out what we're doing, we could get in trouble."  
  
Firmin shook his head. "We are of high standings in Paris, my dear friend. Mme. Giry couldn't do a thing to us!"  
  
"And what about our ghost?"  
  
"His days will soon be numbered, Armand. I can guarantee you that." 


	8. Chapter six

"Meow."  
  
The sound frightened Christine, causing her to let out a cry of surprise. She spun around, gripping the scarf around her shoulders tightly. Her heart beat in her chest quickly and she was surprised to see that there wasn't a single person in sight. Christine slowly lowered her eyes and let out a sigh of relief; Ayesha, Erik's feline companion, sat at the sidewalk's bend, staring at her tentatively. The charcoal tail whipped about the cat's slender body and she didn't make another sound.  
  
A soft beam of hope shined in Christine's eyes as Ayesha stared at her; where ever Ayesha was Erik wouldn't be too far behind. He hadn't appeared for her lessons, leaving her alone and near tears in her dressing room; he lied to her and that feeling crushed her. Meg had stopped in, before she left, to see if she had left yet. Amazed to see her friend in tears, they spent an hour talking about the opera and anything to get Christine's mind off of what was troubling her. Finally Christine had gathered her things and left, knowing Erik wouldn't come.  
  
"Hello, darling!" Christine mused, kneeling down to stroke Ayesha's fur. The Siamese cat purred happily, closing her eyes to the loving touch. The feline pushed herself into Christine's touch happily. "What are you doing by yourself?"  
  
Ayesha meowed in reply.  
  
Casually Christine picked Ayesha up, holding her like she was a baby; all this while she didn't seem to notice her scarf slip from her body and tumble off in the soft breeze. "Where's Erik? I didn't think he'd let you out of his sight!" She began to walk, stroking the cat's fur and listening to the soft purring. "You know, your master didn't show up tonight. I was waiting for hours, my dear, and I didn't hear a single word from him. Were you the source of my problems? Maybe you ran off and he had to go after you. If that is the reason then you are the source of my tears." Ayesha licked at her fingers causing Christine to smile. "Of course, I couldn't be angry with such a darling creature."  
  
"Excuse me, Mademoiselle!"  
  
Christine glanced over her shoulder, coming to a stop; a man came running up to her, her scarf clasped in his hand. Ayesha fidgeted and jumped from Christine's arms. The cat hissed viscously at the stranger, causing him to come to a stop a few feet from them both. The man looked at Ayesha nervously, the cat arching her back and her fur standing on end. She stood between the stranger and Christine, as if she was protecting the young singer.  
  
"Yes?" Christine asked, nervously. She looked at Ayesha who continued to hiss. "Hush now!"  
  
The man held out the scarf, with a slight smile. Christine looked at the scarf and blushed slightly. "You dropped your scarf. One shouldn't be out in the cold without one."  
  
As Christine took her shawl she felt the man's fingers move, ever so slightly, and brush against her hand. She pulled her hand away quickly, wrapping the scarf around her. "Thank you, Monsieur; I would have never noticed." she said with smile. Ayesha let out a meow and Christine looked down at her. She sighed and looked at the stranger. "Well, I must be on my way. I must return this cat to her master. Good night."  
  
As Christine began to pick Ayesha up, the man stopped her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Christine spun around, her eyes wide with fear with the sudden invasion of personal space. Ayesha hissed once more, sensing Christine's trouble. The man drew his hand back, slowly, his eyes locked on to hers.  
  
"Please answer me one question, Mademoiselle." the man said. His eyes studied Christine's face more and she took a step back. "Have we met before?"  
  
Christine shook her head. "I don't think so. You must have gotten me mixed up with someone else. Good night!" Christine quickly grabbed Ayesha and began to walk away, her heart racing and her mind full of fear.  
  
"Is your name Christine Daae?" the man called.  
  
Christine faltered and took in a sharp breath. "Good night, Monsieur!" Christine called, her heart skipping a beat when the man said her name. She hurried away, Ayesha growling in her arms.  
  
**********  
  
Erik gazed across the street, watching as Christine hurried away, leaving the stranger. Christine was holding Ayesha close as if she was her only defense. The stranger stood, watching her disappear around a bend with a reflection of sadness in his eyes. Erik glared at the man, wishing to know the intentions he had.  
  
With a snicker at the man's failure, Erik turned and walked down the street. His mind lingered on the way the man had approached Christine. He knew her from somewhere, but Christine seemed to forget. The one thing Christine was thinking about was returning Ayesha; Erik felt pride with that single thought. Christine was dedicated to him, just as she had promised.  
  
A fog slowly began to fill the streets. Erik smiled as he remembered Christine's conversation with Meg Giry; the way her cheeks grew rosy with every mention that she or he showed an inkling of affection for each other. Erik had been amazed by the act and left his spot from behind Christine's mirror. His mind and body were betraying him with every thought of Christine. He couldn't go on with Christine's first lesson without thinking of the conversation that was heard.  
  
"Erik?"  
  
Erik spun around, his hand tucking away beneath his cloak gripping at the end of his Punjab lasso. His heart nearly stopped as the fog seemed to melt away from Christine's body. Ayesha called to Erik, jumping from Christine and rushing into Erik's arms. Erik looked around as Ayesha nuzzled her head against his chest; he had walked faster than he thought. The opera house was about three blocks away.  
  
"Why didn't you come to me tonight?" Christine asked, her voice lingering in the misted air. She looked at Erik with eyes full of sadness.  
  
"I had my reasons, Christine." Erik replied, trying not to be curt. He bent down, letting Ayesha stand and rub her body against his leg. He looked at Christine and noticed a hurt expression on her face. She had expected to hear him and Erik knew he had crushed her hope to sing and hear him sing.  
  
Lowering her head and eyes from Erik's view, Christine let out a wavering breath. "Well, it's late and I must be on my way. Good night"  
  
As Christine turned to walk away Erik took her by the arm, suddenly bringing her back to him. Christine let out a startled gasp as her body came to met Erik's. His hands wrapped around her, holding her close. He could feel her tense at the first touch, but she relaxed quickly. Christine leaned back, letting her body rest against Erik as he held her tightly.  
  
"Come with me, Christine." Erik whispered. A soft smile crossed his lips as he felt Christine shudder once more, his breath hot against her neck. "Come to my home again. The house feels empty without you gracing its rooms. I've kept your room just the way you left it."  
  
Christine didn't move. "I must return to the opera house tomorrow. Mme. Giry won't have me late again and I must get my dancing as perfect as possible. I don't know if I will be able to join you."  
  
Erik's hands left Christine's arms, slowly moving away from them and down the slender curve of her body. Christine's breath caught in her throat as Erik's lips grazed across her cheek and as his wandering hands came to a stop at her waist. His voice began to sing a soothing song that Christine couldn't help following. His hand's trembled but his voice never wavered as he continued the song.  
  
Erik's voice slowly trailed off and he held Christine close. She let her head fall back, resting on his shoulder. He smiled to himself. "Will you please join me tonight? The house is lonely without you."  
  
"Of course." Christine breathed.  
  
The smile never left Erik's face, even as he kissed Christine's neck with feather softness. In a way he was testing his boundaries, seeing how far he could go before Christine did something or his own conscience spoke to him. This did prove, however, that this young singer was under his spell and the seductive power he was once told he possessed was finally showing its true colors.  
  
Erik took Christine's hand into his own and slowly led her down the street, Ayesha leading the way. At some point he would stop and blindfold her, but Erik was content with walking with Christine along the abandoned streets of the city. 


	9. Chapter seven

The night had withered away to the dark hours of morning. Christine had long fallen asleep with Ayesha curled up at the foot of the bed. The candles in the main room had been blown out and the dying embers of the fireplace glowed red. Soft music drifted through the air as Erik tried to play his piano as soft as possible not wanting to wake Christine. The late nights never seemed to cease for him.  
  
Erik finally came to a stop, listening dolefully as the grandfather clock chimed for the third hour. He ran a hand through his black hair, feeling the strings of his mask gaze across his palm. He let out a sigh, pulling his hands quickly from his hair as if the feelings of the strings had hurt him. He had always remembered wearing the mask, the first gift he ever truly recollects. Erik knew that what lay behind the mask had frightened so many people and no one was immune to it. He was frightened about getting close to Christine, yet he wanted to grow closer yet.  
  
Shutting up the keys to his piano Erik slowly moved out of his room. He walked quietly through the main chamber, missing every piece of furniture and missing every creaking floorboard, all from memory. His ungloved hands found his violin case resting on a small table. Erik paused, looking at the closed door to Christine's room; it was partially open from Ayesha wandering in earlier that evening. With a sigh he slipped out of the house without a single sound.  
  
Unlit candelabras stood near the trail that leads to Erik's home beneath the Paris Opera House. Erik walked slowly down the path, not bothering to light any of the candles. All he wanted was the feeling of the darkness to take him away from his memories. The sound of rippling water guided him towards the edge of the lake that separated him from the rest of the world. The simple wooden boat he had struck the dock he made in the spare time years before; it got him to the labyrinth that led to Christine's mirror. Other than that exist there was the pathway that led to one of the streets above.  
  
Coming to a stop on the dock's edge, Erik sat down. The bottom of his shoes skimmed over the glassy surface of the lake, causing a ripple to spring forth. Listening to the sounds of the water, Erik pulled his violin from its case. The wood felt cold beneath his fair skinned hands, a soothing feeling after hours of playing the piano. He closed his eyes and brought the instrument to his chin.  
  
After a moment of silence, a beautiful sound escaped the strings of the instrument. The song flowed from the violin, encasing Erik in a world he had once known and loved. He stood with ease, swaying with the soft music as it echoed off the lake and stonewalls of his creation. Memories of operas past and the hymns from Notre Dame de Paris poured from memories almost forgotten. He had traveled to the cathedral many times, just to listen to the organ and choir sing; a few times he even ventured into the cathedral at night to play the organ just to listen to the instrument sing.  
  
Tears slowly began to trickle down Erik's cheeks as the fond memories seemed to mock him. He pushed the horrid thoughts away and focused on the song. The world seemed to slow as the song quickened with the sweet sound. His heart quickened with the music and his breath came out as hums as the music enveloped him in a cocoon of euphoria; his mind was filled with complete happiness.  
  
"You play beautifully."  
  
Erik's eyes flew open, but he didn't bother to stop playing. Christine was at the end of the dock watching him, still wearing the nightgown Erik insisted she wore, for the other one had yet to be clean. Her feet were bare and her mane of raven ed hair was pulled away from her face. In her eyes, though, Erik could see that Christine was still fogged by her slumber.  
  
"What is it called?" Christine asked, her voice soft and riddled with sleep.  
  
Erik slowly came to a stop, pulling the violin away from his chin. "It's a song by Bach; a very lovely piece. It was one of the first I learned when I was a child." He knelt down and put the violin in its case. He eyed Christine for a moment; she hadn't moved, her hands fidgeting with the cuffs of her dress like they usually did. A smile came across Erik's face, but he hid it quickly. "I didn't want to disturb your sleep, so I came out here to play. I'm sorry that I woke you, Christine; I didn't know I was playing so loud."  
  
Christine shook her head, a few strands of her curly hair falling into her face. "I've never heard anything like it; it was beautiful. It wasn't upsetting to wake to something like that." She took a step closer to him. Her eyes looked over his white mask but tried not to linger on it. "An angel can't help but do what he has been set out to fulfill."  
  
With a slender finger, Erik brushed away the free strands of Christine's hair. Her cheeks flushed and her hand grazed across the hair that he had touched. She lowered her eyes, bashful of her display of childlike emotions.  
  
"Both of us should get some sleep." Erik said, turning his face away from Christine. He could feel his own cheeks flush and give warmth to the mask that was facing Christine. "Your lesson took a lot out of you, Christine, and it would be best if you rested your voice. I will return you to the opera house tomorrow."  
  
Christine studied Erik for a moment, watching his every movement closely. Her eyes were always drawn to the mask he wore, though. Erik never mentioned it or why it was there, but Christine could only imagine that he was accustomed to the stares and questions one would ask about such a thing. The mask was the item that had frightened her the night she had first seen him. Why would anyone wear a mask? Christine thought it was for a masquerade but when she saw him again, he still wore the mask. Erik was hiding something, she knew that much and she wanted to know what he hid but fear of what could happen was always echoing in her mind.  
  
As Erik slowly moved past Christine, she reached for him but her hand was too high to touch his shoulder; instead her hand grazed the cold skin of the white mask. Erik felt the soft touch and spun around with reflexes mimicking a cat's. He grabbed Christine by the wrist, catching her off guard and causing her to let out a cry of surprise. A look of fear washed over the girl's face as the feelings of anger and betrayal began to well inside of Erik.  
  
"What do you think you were trying to do?" Erik snarled, his eyes boring into Christine's.  
  
Christine whimpered and tried to pull free of Erik's grasp, but he was too strong. "I was just trying to touch your shoulder. I didn't mean to make you angry."  
  
Erik quickly dropped Christine's hand. He cursed himself beneath his breath, his eyes turning to Christine as she looked at him in fear. "I'm sorry, Christine." Erik whispered averting his eyes hastily. "I felt you touch my mask and I thought you were trying to remove it. Promise me, Christine," he said, "that you'll never try to remove my mask."  
  
All Christine could do was nod in agreement, a sense of fear still present with the memory of Erik's angry gaze. He took a step towards her but she recoiled quickly, hugging herself and turning her eyes away. Erik moved forwards once more, his hand outreaching and touching her cheek softly. That simple touch turned Christine's attention back to Erik. He smiled softly and took another step towards her, slowly wrapping his arms around her and she didn't fight; she shook, not from fear but from the chilled air that rolled across the lake.  
  
"Erik?" Christine whispered.  
  
"Yes?" Erik said.  
  
"I'm sorry if I made you angry," Christine said softly. Erik didn't reply and the two stood in silence for a moment. "Do angels convey emotions?" she asked softly and breaking the silence between them.  
  
Erik nodded. "Every creature has the capability of emotions, Christine; no matter what they look like or what they are." The answer said more than he intended but it didn't seem to matter. "Why do you ask?"  
  
"Can angels love?"  
  
"I suppose they can."  
  
"Do you?"  
  
Erik didn't reply. He could feel Christine shift uneasily in the silence. Erik pulled away and looked down at Christine. She looked up at him, her eyes examining his face. A soft smile slowly spread across her face and Erik returned it. He had never noticed how small Christine was before that moment. Then again, he had never been so close to a woman before and by no means had the chance to observe such a thing.  
  
Without a word Erik took Christine's face into his hands. She let out a gasp at the sudden touch and coldness of Erik's skin. She hadn't noticed it when he had taken her wrist because fear raced through her body. Now it was frightening but his touch quickly warmed to her skin and the feeling was quickly a memory. Christine's heart fluttered as Erik's face grew closer to hers. Christine closed her eyes, hoping that this wasn't a dream. Their lips met and in that first instance Christine stiffened at the alien touch, something Erik's subconscious took note of.  
  
Erik's hands held Christine in place; one around her waist and the other on the nape of her neck. Christine's arms were wrapped around his neck, trying to hold her up; her legs were weak and her mind in a spin of emotions. After only four days of knowing this man, this angel, and hindering feelings of love, her questions were answered.  
  
Slowly Erik pulled away, still holding Christine close to his body. He closed his eyes, feeling that strange sense for tears. In that fleeting second of rapture, their lives seemed to meet and their souls forever joined. He didn't know what to do with those feelings, having never felt or received love from a woman in his life. That moment, though, was filled with too many emotions and it left him drained in a sense.  
  
"Have you ever loved?" Christine asked, finally breaking their silence. She didn't look at Erik and he didn't look at her.  
  
Erik whispered his reply, afraid that she would hear what he dreaded. "No, Christine, and no one has loved me. I have lived that way all my life, and expect nothing more." He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness before him. His hand clutched at the fabric of Christine's nightdress and he sighed heavily. "As beautiful as I may seem, there is a creature that lurks inside me. Those who have seen this creature for themselves have never looked at me the same; my voice and my music can never erase those memories. I am not the angel you think I am."  
  
Saying nothing more Erik pulled away from Christine, his eyes never making contact with hers. He was confused and tired; he wanted to be alone. Erik turned away from her and seized his violin case. Whispering a good night he retreated into the house and locked himself away in his room.  
  
Christine soon followed, returning to her room and to the familiar bed. She slid beneath the covers, her mind still a blur with what just happened but sleep was slowly taking over. Before Christine slipped into the depths of her dreams she could hear the sound of someone crying and she could only wonder if it was her angel who wept. 


	10. Chapter eight

Christine sat at the vanity table that was placed in her room, staring at her reflection as her mind wandered. Erik reported to her that the opera house would be closed for the next day or too. Upon asking why, Erik explained that the police were investigating the death of Joseph Bouquet. He muttered something about the relevance of it all, but said nothing else. It troubled Christine a little but knew she shouldn't ask more questions about it; Erik's temper may flare again.  
  
Picking up the brush Christine began to comb through her hair, her eyes never leaving her reflection. Memories of the night before began to flood her mind; everything was coming back to her in such clarity, the music, the way they had looked at each other, their short conversation, and then the kiss. Closing her eyes she could almost feel the kiss once more. Christine smiled softly, looking at her herself and touching her lips softly. With the compassion of everything, the sound of Erik crying had scared her. She had hurt him, but she didn't know how.  
  
There was a soft knock at the door. Christine put the brush down and looked at her reflection. The memories had brought her near tears. Feverishly she wiped away the on coming tears. The knock sounded again.  
  
"Come in."  
  
The door opened softly; Erik's familiar figure appeared in the doorway. He was in full evening dress and wore a mask Christine had never seen before. The mask covered almost every part of his face, leaving two beautifully engraved holes for his eyes. It stopped on the bridge of Erik's nose and reached half way down his cheeks before leading back up.  
  
Erik held a hat in his gloved hands, his fingers tapping nervously on the rim. His eyes studied Christine for a moment. With a heavy breath Erik put on his hat, tilting it to one side so it tossed a shadow over his face. "Christine, I'm going to leave you alone for a few hours; I have some business to tend to on the other side of the city. I shouldn't be out for long."  
  
Christine's eyes widened. She stood abruptly, knocking over the wooden chair she had sat in. She spun around, her eyes fixing on Erik's immediately. "You're leaving me alone?"  
  
"For no more than four hours, Christine." Erik said. "You'll be fine by yourself. There is nothing to worry about." His hand gripped the doorknob; he studied Christine's frightened eyes for a moment. Turning away quickly, he left the room without a word.  
  
A stunned and frightened silence fell around Christine. 'Alone. . . . In a place I hardly know,' she thought as fear crept in to her mind. She suddenly called for Erik, dashing out of her room. The notion of being alone was something that she couldn't stand. As Christine passed down the hall she almost ran into Erik, who had paused after he heard her call his name.  
  
Erik was startled as Christine threw her arms around him. He slowly returned the embrace, still unsure of himself. "What's wrong?" Erik whispered.  
  
Christine buried her face into his chest, holding onto him tight. "I've never been here without you. What if someone broke in? You wouldn't be here; something horrible could happen." Her voice was muffled in Erik's shirt and the tears that formed quickly disappeared into the material. Christine stiffened as Erik's hands took her face, taking a step back. This was the first instant she realized how much she depended on him. When they first met she felt like straying away and the mask produced a strange fear, but now she didn't mind the mask and saw the angelic creature beneath it. She didn't want to be apart from him.  
  
Erik's brown eyes searched Christine's, noticing the hint of tears as they blinked. "You're safe here, Christine, no one knows of this place." He let his hands fall to his side, but he reached for Christine's hand involuntarily; he was a little more than surprised when Christine took his hand into hers. He paused for an instant before pulling his hands away. "I didn't know you'd be so frightened of being alone. If I would have known I would have requested to have my friend meet me here."  
  
"What friend?" Christine asked. She regretted the question instantly when Erik shot her displeased look. She lowered her eyes and searched her mind for something to say. "What am I to do today than?"  
  
With a slight pause Erik turned away and moved towards his cloak, which had been draped over one of the wooden chairs. His hands disappeared into a pocket, searching around for something. In seconds he had pulled out a single key. "Did you see the path leading away from the dock and the house?" Erik asked, approaching Christine. She nodded slightly, her eyes turning from the key to Erik. "If you follow it, it will lead you to the street. The only way to get out is with this key. Can I trust you with it?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Erik took Christine's hand into his. He slipped the key into her palm, lingering there for a moment. Christine's hand closed around Erik's causing him to stiffen. He pulled his hand away, his eyes turning to Christine who was watching him closely.  
  
"I will return before sunset." Erik said, suddenly turning away from Christine. He strode to his cloak and swung it on. He fixed himself and eyed Christine. She hadn't moved much, and was now clutching the key to her chest. "Will you be okay?"  
  
Christine nodded, feeling tears forming. "Yes." she said, forcing a smile across her face. "I'll be fine."  
  
Erik drew closer to Christine, wiping away her tears with gloved fingers. He took her hand and kissed it softly, his eyes rising to look in her own. Her cheeks flushed and a smile came across his face. Without a word Erik placed a soft kiss on Christine's cheek; he whispered a good bye as he pulled away from her. With a swift turn he was gone, leaving Christine stunned and her mind jumbled with thoughts.  
  
Erik never knew the name of the restaurant he disappeared to once every few months. It was large; large enough so he'd feel safe from prying eyes. The waiters and the owner of the restaurant all knew Erik, both by name and by appearance. They asked no questions when he appeared, but greeted him with a bright smile and a bow. They escorted him through the maze of tables and to one that was nestled in a dark corner. No one asked what he wanted to drink, knowing all too well he wanted the best wine they had.  
  
With soft candlelight and the sound of violins playing on a stage in the center of the restaurant, Erik felt sheltered from the world. His gloved fingers lingered on the rim of the crystal wine glass, sliding across the smooth surface. He gazed at the two artists as they played a sonata on their instruments. His fingers seemed to itch with the urge to snatch the instruments away and begin to play his own music.  
  
"Monsieur!" Erik said, waving his hand into the air.  
  
A waiter turned and bustled over to Erik's table. He gave a curt bow and sighed. "May I be of assistance, Monsieur?"  
  
"Yes." Erik replied softly. He met the young man's gaze, watching as he stiffened with the sudden eye contact. "I was wondering if you have a writing utensil with you." The waiter reached into his pocket and held out a pencil. Erik took it gingerly and nodded. "Thank. That will be all."  
  
Turning away from the waiter, Erik began to scribble musical notes on the cloth napkin. He hummed the notes to himself, pausing and repeating to make sure it sounded right. A soft smile had crossed his face as half of the cloth had been filled within seconds. It seemed like a whole symphony was playing inside his mind.  
  
"Erik?"  
  
"What is it?" Erik muttered, not truly aware of what he said.  
  
Finishing up the note he was working on, Erik sat straight and raised his eyes to the person who had spoken to him. A smile danced across his face instantly. The familiar form of his Persian friend stood before him. His seemed to have changed once more, wearing the best suit the city had to offer.  
  
"Akil!" Erik said merrily. He stood and extended his hand  
  
The Persian smiled and shook Erik's gloved hand happily. The two sat, Erik quickly putting his napkin in a pocket of his cloak. A waiter seemed to appear automatically. He took Akil's drink and food order, somewhat surprised that Erik declined the offer of food.  
  
Akil eyed Erik for a moment. "Have you already eaten, Erik? It's not like you to not eat. Is there something wrong?"  
  
Erik shook his head. "I am not in the mood to eat, Akil. Why the questions? You never seemed surprised before." He took a sip of his wine before turning his attention to the violinists; he seemed a bit more interested in what they were playing. "I swear, sometimes you worry too much. You know it's not good for a man your age."  
  
Akil was taken aback. He opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn't think of anything to say. True he was twenty-five years Erik's senior but hid his age well. Akil always seemed to take offense when Erik poked fun at his age, even though he was growing accustomed to the teasing child.  
  
"You're right. I apologize" Akil said. He tapped his fingers on the table and looked at the violinist. A sigh escaped him, causing Erik to eye him for a moment. The Persian met his friend's gaze. "I can tell, though, that you're hiding something from me, Erik. Being a companion, of sorts, for nearly ten years, I can tell when you are hiding something from me. Tell me Erik; something is bothering you, or should I someone?"  
  
Erik's hands tightened on the laced tablecloth. He glared at Akil for a moment; their eyes met, Akil seeming to stare Erik down for a second. "You should watch where you tread, old man." Erik spat. His eyes flashed with anger. The look in his eyes made Akil flinch, more so then his previous threat. "You may find yourself trapped and when you do, it will be too late."  
  
A sly smile came across Akil's face. He leaned his face closer to Erik's, his eyes studying his masked friend as he leaned back a little. "Who is she?"  
  
"What?" Erik gasped, amazed at his Persian friend's perception. "I'll never understand you, Akil." He tried his greatest to suppress his rising anger. He figured out Akil knew about her. He always seemed to see past everything and get beneath Erik's skin; no matter how hard he tried to hide things Akil always knew about it.  
  
"I want a name." Akil said sternly, his eyes suddenly taking on a harsh demeanor.  
  
Erik fidgeted for a moment, feeling like he was a child again. Akil always held him as a pupil, even though the shah had presented Erik as a higher court member than Akil himself. Only being at the age of fifteen, and having an intellect greater than the people he met, Erik felt like Akil overpowered him in so many ways.  
  
"Christine." Erik replied softly as he abandoned all thought and hope of keeping it hidden from his Persian friend.  
  
"Where did you meet her?" Akil asked, pushing Erik on.  
  
"The Opera House. Where else would I meet someone?"  
  
"She sings than?"  
  
Erik nodded.  
  
"How old is she?"  
  
"Almost twenty, Akil."  
  
Akil nodded. He pulled a notepad out of his pocket and began to write on it. Erik watched Akil for a moment. He wondered what he was doing; Akil always seemed to carry a notepad with him, jotting things down after Erik would explain or do something out of the ordinary. Erik wanted to know what Akil was writing.  
  
"Do you have what I need?" Erik asked, finally turning his attention back to the initial point.  
  
"Yes, of course." Akil muttered without looking up; he continued to write. He paused for a moment and looked at Erik who was growing impatient. "I just have one more question, Erik. Have you done anything to her; hurt her in any way? I hope you remember what we agreed to. The last thing I want. . . ."  
  
"Are you serious?" Erik asked, sounding disgusted. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Akil. "I've been taught better. Above everything else I know that I mustn't go back on a promise and that doing harm to a woman is something that even I wouldn't think of doing. My years in the Opera House have been peaceful, Akil, and you knew that."  
  
Akil eyed Erik for a moment before placing a black cloth bag on to the table. "There you are. I'm very pleased with you, Erik."  
  
Erik suddenly slammed his hand on the table, causing Akil's to spill over and staining the lace cloth. Akil jumped and stared at Erik in amazement. "I am not a damned dog, Akil; I will not work for your approval and these God forsaken 'treats.'" Erik yelled. The room seemed to fall silent and all eyes turned to Erik. The usual feeling of uneasiness didn't fall upon Erik, instead it seemed like he didn't notice.  
  
"Erik, please sit down." Akil said, reaching for Erik's arm.  
  
"Don't you touch me." Erik snarled. He slapped Akil's hand away violently, causing Akil to take in a sharp breath and pull his hand towards him. Erik snatched the bag and frowned. "I'm a man, Akil, and I don't need to be treated as an absent minded child. I know right from wrong and I don't need you to tell me what I can or can't do. I thank you for bringing this and I bid you good day!"  
  
With a few simple movements Erik had his cloak and hat, putting them on swiftly. He slipped the black bag in a hidden pocket. Drinking the remnants of his wine and Erik slammed the glass onto the table, a spider- web crack slithered up the glass's base.  
  
Akil let out an amazed gasp as he looked up at Erik. For the first time in years, he saw that Erik had changed. He obviously held much more power than he had at fifteen. Erik had grown, in height and strength and held an overpowering air. Throughout it all, though, he seemed to hold the elegance of every person and the kindness he once knew was buried away in the exterior of a once morbid man.  
  
The restaurant had finally gone back to its usual course; the sounds of the cooks from kitchen, the waiters bustling about, and the guests turning back to their companions. The people began to eat but they began to whisper about the strange masked man, his sudden outburst, and the Persian who was his company. After a moment of silence the violinists began to play.  
  
"Erik, don't leave like this." Akil said, standing and catching Erik by the arm. Erik looked at him angrily, but Akil didn't let go. "I know I've offended you. . . ."  
  
"You don't know what you've done, Akil." Erik snarled as he pulled his arm away. He turned sharply, causing his cloak to swirl around him. "I would advise you to call before coming to me again; it would be very dreadful if something would happen to you."  
  
Before Akil could react Erik was already gone. 


End file.
